A Quick Stroke of Revenge
by roisaber
Summary: The E.S. Gad and E.S. Joseph finally become operational, and Pellegri leads her two wingmen into battle, trying to assuage the guilt of her failures against Shion with blood. Pellegri wonders ruefully if she'll ever get an opportunity to send the Vector terrorist to a well-deserved grave.


The sexual mores of the Ormus religion had been born in the fires of grim necessity. When the Immigrant Fleet escaped from Lost Jerusalem just before its mysterious downfall, only a few thousand individuals managed to flee aboard the partially-completed spacecraft. Fleet biologists were concerned that the ensuing genetic bottleneck would ultimately doom the Immigrant Fleet to extinction unless they made the most possible combinations from the biological material they had available. What this meant in practical terms was genetic mixing; early, often, and with as many partners as possible. Despite their eventual recovery, their tradition had carried on, and thus Pellegri would face no moral opprobrium from either her superiors or presumptive rivals for waking up sandwiched between Hermann and Richard after a night of frenzied lovemaking.

Pellegri got up carefully so as not to wake the pair. They all got little enough sleep as it was, chasing phantoms of the Zohar across the galaxy and also fulfilling as many of Patriarch Sergius' little whims as possible along the way. Already naked, she padded into the small bathroom in her quarters and turned on the shower. Finding herself in a bad mood from a week of too much stress and too little sleep, Pellegri deliberately set the water to scalding hot and climbed in. The steaming water pattered down on her skin and drew welts, and it made her felt a sense of masochistic satisfaction. She deserved to be punished for her failures. The pain reminded her of the unbearable agony of losing to Shion at the Ormus Stronghold, and Pellegri couldn't resist the impulse to pick at the memory like a scab.

The horror of losing to that woman – Shion. Shion the traitor, Shion the murderer, Shion the fool. From intelligence reports and her own time with Jin, Pellegri knew that the woman had watched the Federation invasion of Miltia with her own eyes while she was a child. She was there when the independent world was blockaded, attacked, and ultimately obliterated by Federation terrorists seeking to subsume every last system into their galactic tyranny. And what had the mewling woman turned around and done in response? Shion had turned to _them_ after they massacred her family. She moved to a Federation world, attended a Federation university, and, in the most galling move of all, she went on to develop weapons for the very organization that had built the weapons used to kill her family. The unimaginable cravenness of it. The galaxy had been in conflict with itself for decades, and it was all too easy to fall into blind, witless loathing inspired by government propaganda. But Pellegri's fierce hatred of Shion was no indoctrinated reflex. It was entirely personal.

Pellegri's eyes stung with unshed tears. The worst part was she'd faced down that woman twice now, and twice she had failed to send Shion to a well-deserved grave. No matter how much she trained, no matter how much she suffered, no matter how much more intensely _conscionable _Pellegri was both as a woman and as a soldier, she still couldn't overcome Shion in combat. She cried quietly, hoping the sound of the running water would keep her from being overheard in her moment of weakness.

She finally composed herself and set the shower to drying mode. A burst of static electricity dried her almost totally after a couple of seconds, and she went back into her quarters and started assembling her elegant uniform. She had to admit it; the fashion designers employed by Ormus had excellent taste. The dress complimented her thin figure while remaining curvy in all the right places. Cutouts at the hip emphasized her femininity and kept the black pencil dress from becoming overly severe. The white gloves, emblazoned with the symbol of Ormus, were a classy touch and kept her sweat-slicked hands from sliding off the controls of her combat mech in the heat of battle. Finally, a choker bearing the harmonic cross of Ormus – the symbol and the substance of her absolute faith in God.

She reviewed herself in the video mirror, ensuring that the curves curved and that everything that should be symmetrical, was. She allowed herself a tiny smile. No wonder Herman and Richard had found themselves completely helpless to resist her advances.

Her computer chimed, and she winced when she saw the call was from Margulis.

She sighed, muttered about the lost prospect of a decent breakfast, and finally took the call. Margulis had bags under his eyes and the man looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"I have good news, Pellegri," he told her in a grave and fatherly tone.

Well, that was a nice change. "Yes, sir?"

"The E.S. Gad and the E.S. Joseph are now fully operational and prepared for combat."

For a split second, Pellegri felt like a little girl on Godmas morning again.

"_Yes_!" she cried, and then she blushed furiously.

"I'm sure your subordinates will share your enthusiasm. Hopefully, having these new units available will increase your operational success rate." Pellegri looked down, chided. "On that note, I took the liberty of assuming you would want a chance to try them out right away. I've assigned you to a combat mission at eleven hundred hours today."

Pellegri was as eager as she'd ever been to go into battle. "Yes, Commander! Absolutely."

Margulis glanced behind her and caught sight of the pair sleeping in her bed. Pellegri felt no shame, but it was widely guessed that Margulis was a closeted homosexual who led a severely ascetic lifestyle in order to resist his temptations. While multiple partners weren't frowned upon by the church, homosexuality very explicitly was - a taboo born in the era when producing genetically distinct infants was the difference between life and death for the Fleet. Pellegri idly wondered if Margulis was jealous.

The Commander continued without mentioning it, "A small Federation convoy has been sitting between two U.M.N. columns and seizing U-TIC supply ships. Naturally, they must be stopped. There are no operational limits on the use of force for this mission – take this as an opportunity to push your E. to the limit and see what they're really capable of. I'm sending your navicomputers the coordinates now."

"I look forward to proving that your continued faith in me is not misplaced, Commander," Pellegri responded quietly.

"See that it isn't. Please upload the contents of your Encephalons immediately after the battle so our engineers can make fine-tune adjustments to your mechs."

"Yes sir."

"Margulis out."

The screen went dead. Pellegri glanced at the time, and noticed with some dismay that it was already ten-fifteen. Margulis certainly hadn't given her much time to rest before booting her back into combat. She stalked over to the bed with the predatory imperiousness of a falcon.

"Gentleman, it's time to get up!" she announced.

Hermann mumbled something and rolled over. Richard didn't even stir.

She cleared her throat. "I said, _get up_!"

Their response was still underwhelming, so she grabbed the duvet and tore it off the bed with a flourish. After the requisite amount of cajoling, she finally got her two wingmen out of bed and into their uniforms. Both of them were an unshaven mess, but Margulis hadn't offered enough time for them to be able to shower and preen to parade ground standards. No matter – most of the people who were likely to see them over the next few hours were people who wouldn't live to tell.

"After all these simulations, I can't wait to pilot E.S. Joseph," Hermann announced cheerily as the three made their purposeful way towards the docking bay.

Richard added, "I can't wait to kill some fucking Feds."

Pellegri agreed emphatically. "We're going to give them some payback for Michtam."

"And Miltia," added Hermann.

"And the Stronghold."

"And Aurobindo Canal."

It was too much to hope that Shion Uzuki, the object of her hatred, would show her face on this mission. Neither she nor her equally damnable brother would demean themselves to protect some two-bit Federation patrol. Against a lightly armed and armored U-TIC supply ship, a Federation battlecruiser was a formidable opponent. However, the vastly superior maneuverability of an E.S. should allow the inquisitors to carve the task force to ribbons with ease. Preliminary data showed three Federation battlecruisers sitting stationary on an interception trajectory; sitting ducks. Pellegri was eager to inflict a blow on the Feds, however small; a thousand papercuts could still bleed an enemy to death.

They entered the hangar.

"God, they're beautiful," Richard said as if seeing the E.S. Gad for the first time.

Hermann added, "The hypostatization of elegant death."

The deck officer strode forward and saluted.

"Status?" Pellegri asked.

"All systems nominal, ma'am. We ran an entire diagnostic twice this morning and they both seem to be functioning as anticipated. They're fully charged and ready for you at any time."

She nodded curtly. "Thank you, Werner. Okay gentlemen, start your mecha."

The three took a lift to the boarding catwalks, and Richard was bouncing back and forth on his heels like an eager schoolboy. It made Pellegri smile to see her two loyal companions - not to mention lovers - so happy. Until now they'd been stuck with dumbed-down A.W.G.S. while Pellegri flown around in the E.S. Issachar, and their jealousy had been palpable. Synchronization with the Vessels of Anima had made their anticipation hotter and hotter and now the day had finally arrived to take the mobile weapons on their first actual combat mission. It stood to reason that the vastly superior power of an E.S. compared to that of an A.W.G.S. would help them watch her ass all the more effectively in battle. Maybe almost as effectively as they watched her ass outside of combat.

The three split up and each climbed down the boarding ladder into their respective mecha. The metamaterial seat of the Issachar knew Pellegri's contours more intimately than any man she'd ever bedded, and she settled gratefully into the combat chair. Screens burst to life, relaying system data, synchronization rates, and pilot vitals. Pellegri was pleased to note that she was up to 98.4% attunement – clearly, the recreational fucking had done wonders for her mental state. She opened the comm channel to her two wingmen.

"How does it feel, gentlemen?" she asked.

"Awesome!" Richard enthused.

"I'm at 98.5%, Major!"

Pellegri smiled. "Make sure to keep it up when we make contact."

"Yes ma'am!"

Pellegri keyed the comm over to another channel. "Issachar, Gad, Joseph, ready for launch."

There was a resounding metallic clang, and Werner announced, "Docking bolts released."

"Thrusting."

The flight deck rumbled as the doors opened to allow the three to exit. Pellegri knew that her two wingmen must be chomping at the bit to get final launch clearance and take their mechs into space.

"Okay, Major. Bay doors are open and particle shield is down. You're clear to proceed at any time."

She switched back.

"Hermann, Richard – let's go skeet shooting."

The three E. thrust rapidly away from the Ormus carrier _Inquisitrix_. The U.M.N. column that would take them to intercept was twenty minutes away, and the boys spent the intervening time testing their mechs while Pellegri watched with contented bemusement. They sped up, slowed down, and buzzed each other at separations that would make any civilian pilot cringe.

"It's performing just like expected. I can't believe they got the simulations so close," Hermann gushed.

"Well, we do have a lot of combat data from Issachar and Levi, so it's not a surprise the software boys would do a good job," Pellegri observed. "Okay, get in formation because we're coming up on the column."

Hermann and Richard took up positions at her flanks, protecting her from side attacks. If they were lucky they'd get the drop on Federation ships expecting lightly armed support ships instead of smaller and more powerful E.S. mechs. If they could exploit the momentary confusion, they could probably take down a ship before the commanders were even sure of what they were seeing. And as you took down enemies, it became steadily easier to encircle and destroy the survivors. Pellegri was looking forward to adding some new notches to her mental total.

All three of them entered the U.M.N. column in combat formation. Hopefully they would pop out almost on top of the Federation ships, turning their proximity advantage against them. The transit was interminable. Though it was a hell of a lot faster than sublight thrusting, it took them over an hour and a half to get through the column, and that was a long time to be sitting in the cockpit of a mecha without a chance to stand up and stretch. When the wait was finally over everything was as the combat plan had anticipated. Sure enough, the Federation fleet was parked almost on top of the U.M.N. column, ready to pounce on weakly equipped U-TIC freighters. Now the hunters would become the hunted.

"Hermann take immediate left target, Richard, you take right," Pellegri ordered.

The two obediently flew to take on their respective targets, while Pellegri provided cover between them. The ships were bound to launch A.W.G.S. squadrons when they realized they were outclassed, and the E.S. Issachar's Aerods were perfect weapons for keeping small craft off their backs. With alacrity that awed even Pellegri, her two wingmen closed on the Federation battlecruisers in less than thirty seconds and started laying into them.

Being a pilot included studying, too, and Pellegri was surprised to realize that these ships were Carioca-Bs. The battlecruisers were notorious for a critical weakness in their underside; the ship's main power trunk was centralized and set too close to the lower hull, and a determined U-TIC pilot only had to blow through three decks to get an opportunity to sever it. It seemed that the Federation was more than willing to throw these older units away to harry U-TIC and split the Immigrant Fleet's defense forces. Thrusting downward, she made a more accurate assessment - these were actually Carioca-BR1s. The Federation had retrofitted them in an attempt to plug the easily crippled nerve. In Pellegri's experience they were still vulnerable; the extra armor plating just made the power trunk a little harder to get at.

"Hermann, Richard, they're weaker down below. Just carve them open, belly first, and they'll be easy to knock out of action. I've got your flanks."

Defensive lasers opened up all around them, but they were unable to match the superior agility of a combat ready E.S.. Pellegri darted and wove through the beams, somehow intuiting the pattern the algorithms used to target as if with a third eye. Meanwhile, Hermann and Richard hammered on the hull of the nearest battlecruisers with their mêlée weapons. Her combat analysis computer flashed an alert - the Federation fleet had finally had the wherewithal to launch waves of A.W.G.S.. Pellegri rapidly analyzed their behavior with her eagle eyes. Judging by the the mathematical precision of their formation, they were fully automated combat drones rather than manned fighter craft.

"Gad, Joseph, you've got incoming drones. I'll fly cover but watch your 270s."

Potential targets peppered the Issachar's spherical navball. It was going to be lady's choice for Pellegri today. She chose the closest formation, which was already performing its turn to try to flank Gad. The combat drones didn't have any basic human survival instincts - they had a singleminded focus on reducing the number of targets, without any sense of self-preservation unless the main combat algorithm had a future use for the unit. So, the unmanned squadron largely ignored her as she bore down on it. Flashes of light erupted around Gad, and Richard was forced to break off his attack in order to dodge the incoming drones.

He didn't have long to wait. Pellegri launched her Aerods and allowed them to choose their own targets. They tore into the drones from behind, raising hot welts of melted metal and boiling fuel. One second, there were dozens, and they were surrounding Gad in a complicated formation that even an E.S. would have difficulty breaking. The next moment only a handful remained; Issachar's Aerods weren't as powerful as her Peregrine Lance, but they were more than a match for an A.G.W.S. drone. Hermann tore open the belly of his target vessel and all of its weapons and lights went dead. He scanned the battlefield and then noticed something Pellegri had missed.

"Major, behind you!"

E.S. Issachar rocked under the hammer blow of a sudden attack. Its rear armor held against the gatling laser battery - but only barely.

Pellegri turned to face her attacker. She realized that this one must be a human; he handily dodged the self-piloting Aerods. She knew the type - young, inexperienced and cocksure because he was good at the training simulations, but this was probably his first real duel. The E.S. Issachar vastly outclassed his red A.W.G.S., and Pellegri pressed her advantage ruthlessly. She fired her engines and rapidly closed the difference between them. He swung his curved, electrified sword, but she deftly parried it aside and pushed almost close enough for their hulls to touch. She brought her Peregrine Lance downward, with the tip of the spear held horizontal like a halberd. To her amazement, the other mech reacted quickly enough to defend itself. The enemy pilot brought his sword back into position and narrowly deflected Issachar's lance. Servomotors strained under the force.

Pellegri keyed him on the video comm, unsure if he'd reply. "You fight well. What's your name, boy?"

She was mildly surprised when the other pilot accepted the uplink. Naturally, it was an unwise move; things like computer viruses could be transferred over an established communications channel. But sometimes, the temptation to talk to your opponent proved overwhelming.

"Aiden!"

The face of a young man greeted her. Blond, green eyed, and not even yet in his twenties. They must be throwing their inexperienced pilots out into skirmish engagements like these to toughen them up and prepare them for major battles. And if they happened to encounter Gnosis, or a pilot of overwhelming superiority, well; there were tens of thousands of others where Aiden had came from. The boy's hair was greasy with sweat, which poured down his face and stained his orange and white flightsuit. There was a trickle of blood leaking down his forehead - it seemed that something inside his A.W.G.S. cockpit had exploded with the force of Pellegri's swing.

Pellegri spoke softly. "I'll tell you what, Aiden. If you turn around and fly off right now, I'll let you live."

"Never!" the boy cried, full of youthful conviction. "The Federation prevails!"

It hadn't been so long since Pellegri herself had been that young. Being defeated by Shion seemed to add a great weight to her shoulders, and the guilt and the self-loathing she'd felt over the past months were pushing her into old age long before her time.

Well, there was no help for it. Focused entirely on the Issachar's lance, Aiden had completely lost track of her Aeords. While they were parleying, the self-guided weapons revolved around his A.W.G.S. and at her command opened up on its rear. Aiden screamed, and she used his momentary dismay to swing her lance again. It carved through the metal like a hot knife through butter, and when she sliced open the cabin there was a small puff of oxygen and pink vapor that indicated the cockpit was giving up its biological material to the cold abyss of the vacuum. What a waste of talent. But there was no helping it.

Hermann was finishing up his own target, and Richard was busy exterminating stray A.W.G.S. drones one-on-one. With the last capital ship rendered largely defenseless against the Issachar, Pellegri focused on carving open its insufficiently protected belly. She threw her lance as hard as the Issachar was capable of, and it tore through the underside of the ship, opening a ragged gash in through in the hull. Her Aerods swarmed around and pummeled the freshly cracked metal shell, and after a minute of steady bombardment, Pellegri saw the gratifying sight of the entire ship losing power. Based on her experience, a major power trunk could take days to repair, and that was time she had no intention of giving the Fed murderers. She raked the bridge with Aerod fire as she targeted the last remaining vessel, which was already rotating around and trying to flee for home.

Pellegri fired her thrusters, allowing the computer to create a complicated pattern of ion jetting that would keep her dead on course for the last ship's underside. There was no reason to be fancy, now; trying to be a smart-ass in battle was a good way to get killed. Planning complicated feints usually did more harm than good. The ship's defensive lasers tried their best to track her, but against the superior maneuverability and advanced Bayesian programming of the E.S. computers, it never really stood a chance of hitting her. She started punching into its belly mercilessly, repeating the same strategy that had brought down the other battleship. Once again it worked like a charm. With a huge gout of burning oxygen, the battlecruiser went dead.

Hermann and Richard picked off the last remaining A.W.G.S. units, flying almost blind without their motherships to guide them. She keyed on her comm.

"Everybody okay?" she asked.

"Awesome, Pelli!" She really should chide Richard over pet names in combat, but the truth was, she was excited too. "My suit's in great shape."

Hermann added, "Mine, too."

She glanced at her combat information control board. Several of the cruisers launched lifeboats; without power, there wouldn't be enough life support to keep all the crewmen alive. Escaping on lifeboats were the only chance many of the soldiers had to survive. It seemed that Richard had seen it, too.

"Pelli, there's a lot of lifeboats out here. Are they on our rules of engagement?"

Pellegri hesitated. The lifeboats were essentially harmless, other than the sunk cost of the expertise and training of the men huddled within. They were fellow soldiers like herself, and even if they _had_ ignorantly sided with the enemies of humanity, it was still easy to empathize with the decisions that had led them to join the military. Could she really order them massacred? On the other hand, it would provide an excellent opportunity for the pair to field test out all of the maneuver patterns and weapons systems of the two newly functional E. . Plus, hadn't they sided with the Federation due to some kind of inherent flaw in character or conscience?

"What do you say, Pelli?" Richard asked, impatient for permission to finish off the escapees.

Pellegri gave her answer.

The trio returned to the _Inquisitrix_, and Pellegri still didn't feel good about her decision. Nevertheless, there was a war going on, and not every call could be the right one. The three landed in the carrier's hanger bay, and despite the zealous hopes of Hermann and Richard to continue the previous nights' escapades where they'd left off, she shooed the two away with an icy demeanor. She hurt, and none of the Church's promises seemed to heal her.


End file.
